


5. Sweet Creature

by brokxnharry



Series: Teen Wolf Challenge (Harry Styles Album) [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Uses His Words, Eventual Happy Ending, Hurt Stiles, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Songfic, epileptic episode warning, sterek kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 17:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13552464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokxnharry/pseuds/brokxnharry
Summary: Stiles has a seizure and Derek tries really hard not to say I told you so.





	5. Sweet Creature

**Author's Note:**

> Used gif isn't mine so credit to owner

The phone was vibrating against the leather of his passenger seat, the sound grinding on his frayed nerves. He tried to breathe like his mother always told him to, every time he inched closer to the edge of utter and complete loss of control. He tried to close his eyes, avoiding the agitating light of the screen and how that stupid picture made him want to cry. It was a picture of Stiles with his eyes crossed and his fingers curled into a clawing motion, as he stood over Derek's sleeping figure, mocking him. Derek woke up to that picture once and just – never bothered to change it. He told himself he forgot to – he didn't. It just made him smile. Felt nice. Like their little inside joke, something that only they could really understand. 

Derek looked at the clock by the radio, calculating how late he was. Stiles was an hour late now, and the longer the phone continued to flare with his number, the more pissed off Derek became. But he'd made a promise, and as infuriated as he still was, he wasn't about to let any more people down. So he stayed outside the airport, staring his phone down like it would yield beneath the intensity of his glare, crumble and just give him all the right answers he needed. Like why was Stiles late and when it started mattering to him.

It didn’t, he decided. He was just annoyed by the inconvenience of the entire situation. He just wanted to go home and not have to be there. Not have to do this with Stiles.  

" You're late, Stiles." Derek forced out, his grip tightening around the driving wheel, just a little.

" Yeah, uh, I know. I'm sorry, I – you can go home, I'll figure something else out."

" Why do you sound like that?" Derek frowned, somewhere between worried and just plain livid.

" Nothing, it's – nothing. I'm fine. I –"

" Stiles." Derek bit out, leaning forward like that would bring him closer to Stiles somehow.

" What?" Stiles whined, all child-like and tired.

" What's going on?"

" I told you, it –"

" I've been waiting for you, in the cold, in the middle of the night, for over an hour. And now you're telling me I can go home? What the fuck is this? I'm not your Uber driver, Stiles. I don't fucking work for you. I was doing this as a **_favor_** , but you're being a condescending, entitled, little – "

" I missed my flight. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry, Derek. I – it won't happen again. I don't know when I'm going to be home, so I – I'll find my own way when I get there. I'm sorry."

" You missed your flight? You're never late, not for things like this."

" I – I got the times mixed up, I guess. It's – "

" Would you **_stop_**? Just tell me what really happened, Stiles." Derek groaned, his restraint wearing thin. Stiles sighed, his tell for letting the rest of the fight in him slip.

" I had a seizure at the airport. They wouldn't let me on the plane."

" What?"

The fingers detangled from the steering wheel, folding onto themselves, closing around aching fists.

" I came to at the airport clinic. They want to transfer me to the nearest hospital for a proper check-up before letting me anywhere near a plane. I don't even know if there is another flight soon – "

" Stiles, just – slow down. You had a **_seizure_**? Why? You don't even have epilepsy or anything. What the **_fuck_**?"

Derek thought of Erica. Her body sprawled on the ground, convulsing like it was trying to dig its own hole in the ground, break all her bones and leave her in pieces that would fit in there just right. He shook his head, willing her face to not reform into Stiles'. Willing her away all together.  

" They said it's a delayed symptom of a healing trauma to the head."

" Head trauma. Probably the same trauma I told you to wait out and not travel by yourself until we know for sure all the symptoms are completely gone."

And he did. It was one of the last things they argued about before Stiles slammed the door to Derek's car, giving him the bird and walking right into the airport, his feet stomping into the ground, leaving earthquakes in their track that Derek had to tremble along with, endure until they'd died out. He still didn't know how to match up his thoughts with his words. He still didn't know how to get those words out. So he yelled. And Stiles never understood why he did. He didn't understand a damn thing.

" Yeah, okay, I said I was sorry, didn't I? Listen, they said I shouldn't use the phone for long, because of harmful radiation. They think it might trigger another seizure or something. So if you can maybe let my dad know I'll be a little late. Scott too, because I didn't want to call him and ruin his time with Kira."

" Jesus Christ, would you shut up? Just – tell me how you feel. Where are you? How frequently can you keep me updated? Just, say you're okay."

For a minute, just for that **_one minute_** , Derek let himself go. He didn't care that he sounded desperate. Didn't care that Stiles' breathing staggered, like he was scared of what this could mean, what those words, that voice, could possibly be loaded with. Just this once, Derek thought of what he would have done if Stiles had been in front of him, instead of miles and miles away, in a clinic somewhere, alone and in pain. He probably would have squeezed the living shit out of him. Would have held on beyond the point of discomfort or awkwardness. It would have been embarrassing really, never to be let go of. But he wouldn't have cared. He was kind of coming undone with the need for reassurance, for comfort. He probably would have kissed him stupid too. It was **_that_** bad.

" I'm – I'm really tired. Like, I don't feel right, still. But they said that was normal after a seizure like that. Scared a lot of people it seems. But I'm fine, dude. I mean. I guess. I'm not dead."

" Fuck, don't joke about that."

Because Erica had seizures. And Erica was dead. Now, Stiles had a seizure too. And in Derek's mind, all that took place between her last seizure, and him carrying her lifeless body out of that safe, didn't matter. Didn't count for anything. In his mind, this led to that. And he refused to think of Stiles following the same path. Mostly because it made him want to throw up.

" Right. Sorry."

" Stop doing that too." Derek's inadequacy was frustrating him further. He wanted to rip his hair out. Wanted to do anything to stop himself from feeling like he was losing something he never had - which invalidated the mere concept of loss and made absolutely zero sense.

" What do you want me to do, Derek?" Stiles sounded like he had no energy to put any real bite into his words. He sounded worn out. And Derek hated himself a little more for it.

" Nothing. I'm sorry, just – you know what, I'm going to drive over and take you home myself."

" What? Derek, stop, what the hell? I'll find a flight home, it's fine, seriously."

" Stiles – "

" The paramedics are here to transfer me to the hospital. I'll call you back when they let me. Thanks, man, for, you know, coming to pick me up from the airport. Sorry for wasting your time."

And then Stiles was gone and Derek's spiraling presumed. He left the car and started pacing beside it, trying to keep his feet from moving away from this damned town, burning through the distance until they got to wherever the hell Stiles ended his college hunt. He took his phone out and called the sheriff first. He was still on shift after one of their bigger arrests, but he lost focus as soon as Derek managed to spit the word _seizure_ out. He started thinking of ways to get to Stiles or to bring Stiles back to them, but Derek gracefully detached himself from the panicked rambling, telling him he'd handle it, and get back to him with updates. He then called Scott – who was in Japan, to visit Kira and her family before heading off to college himself – and there seemed to be a pattern of freaking out and spewing out ideas that would never work just for the sake of saying **_something_**. But Derek was losing patience and time and composure, so he cut him off, informed him that he was going to drive there, but he needed to know where exactly to head to, because he'd been too stubborn to ask about the details of this trip once Stiles disregarded all his – extremely valid – arguments and yelled out that he was going anyway and that Derek couldn't control him. Which wasn't what he'd wanted to do at all, but when had that ever mattered?

So basically, Derek was being petty, immature.

Scott sent him the mapped out details of where Stiles was supposed to go. The sheriff sent him the most recent GPS location he could remotely get off Stiles' phone because he knew people at the telecom company – he was the sheriff, and with a son like Stiles, he had to have some kind of leverage. So with a text to Cora, Derek was on his way to Oakland, which was thankfully only three hours away. Derek thought he could probably make it there in two.

An hour or so later, the sound of his phone ringing broke through the sounds of a body beating against the ground, choked breaths that each sounded like they could be the last, gargling sounds in throats that were willing the last bits of life out and – Stiles screaming for him to do something, to help somehow. But Derek never could do anything for Erica. He didn't know why he ever thought he could change that with Stiles.

He shook his head, answered his phone with a sigh.

" Oh, Derek, I – I thought you'd be resting up by now."

" Stiles," The name was instinctive, effortless, despite how choked it sounded, " No, uh, I wasn't. You okay? What did the doctors say?"

" Broke a couple of ribs. Re-cracked my skull. Bruises everywhere else. They had to give me something to keep me from fidgeting through that MRI, so I'm hella loopy. But they said it shouldn't become a thing, as long as that head trauma heals up. So I'm good."

" Good? Jesus, Stiles."

" After all the encounters with MRI's I've had in my life, I'd take a few broken bones over dementia or –" He stuttered. His tell for something heavy and unwilling clawing at his throat, piercing through his tongue. " Or thousand years old demons any day."

" You can't – "

" That was.. really fucking scary. Like. I couldn't stop feeling detached and. And just, not quite there. I couldn't wake myself up, or just, be present. And then the seizure happened and I – I lost all control over my body, Derek. All of it. Again."

" I don't know what to say, Stiles."

And he didn't. He never really could figure that one out. Seemed like he never could figure any of it out.

" Yeah. Maybe, say that you don't mean to flinch away every time I get a bit frustrated during our fights, like, you still think I'm going to break your arm and throw you away. Say, say that you don't feel like throwing it in my face, every time you start feeling like a shitty person because hey, at least you didn't shove a sword into your best friend's stomach and end up killing his girlfriend. Say that I don’t still feel too cold to you sometimes. That it isn't why you're so fucking mad at me, all the time. Why we can't stop fighting and probably never will. Say you didn't offer to drive all the way here to get me, because you thought my body was trying to reject another demon, trying to throw another host out and just. I don't know, Derek. Say what you fucking mean for **_once_**."

Derek couldn't lie to Stiles, couldn't tell him that all his deepest, most fucked up fears were unreasonable or untrue, because they weren't. Derek still saw the nogitsune every time Stiles got sleepless, and the circles beneath his eyes darkened just a tad. During fights, Derek still almost wanted to fight Stiles too, almost lost track of who was the enemy and who wasn't. Stiles still ran too cold sometimes and every single time, Derek would watch him, waiting for any signs to show, anything to give that maybe he wasn't who he thought he was. But it wasn't because Stiles was a bad person. It wasn't because Derek still held it over his head, wanted to use it against him. Fuck no. Derek was just terrified, of looking away for too long, or not looking closely enough. Of letting him slip again. Losing someone else, and it being **_Stiles_**. Stiles who was so ridiculously self-loathing, so misguided to think that Derek would be angry at him for this shit, that was completely and utterly out of his hand.

Suddenly, Derek's helplessness morphed into something angry and bitter, because how dare Stiles corner him? How dare he throw years and years of carefully blanketed fears and doubts, and just expose him like that? How dare he demand a truth that Derek didn't even understand yet? Not really. Not completely. Not the way he would have liked to.

" You don't get to speculate how I feel. You don't get to pretend you have **_any_** idea why I do the things I do."

Probably because Derek didn't know it either, but that was beside the point.

" I fucking knew you would do this. I don't even know why I bothered. Just – forget it. I thought I should give you the updates you asked for."

" Well, updates given. Anything else?"

" Fucking prick. I hope you get no sleep tonight."

" Your wish is already granted, because I'm almost in Oakland, you asshole."

" What the hell? No, you're not."

" I am."

" Well, then. I hope you get pulled over, or like, get stuck in traffic for a really long time."

There was nothing bitter to back his words up, nothing malicious behind them. Derek knew he didn't mean it, wouldn't wish anything bad for anyone.

" Thanks for that. Go to sleep, Stiles."

And then Derek had to throw his phone away, because there already was a fucking police car blaring its sirens behind him – he was going to kill Stiles for this.

The delay wasn't all that bad, after Derek told the tale of his injured friend, who also happened to be the son of the sheriff a few towns over. He had to pay a fine for using his phone while driving. Also, for speeding like a madman, even if for a good cause. Then, he was on his way, parking in front of the hospital, barely breaking the two-hours mark.

Stiles was sitting on the bench by the side-walk, right by the hospital's gates, with a hospital gown and Derek's least favorite jacket laying across his shoulders. He looked half-asleep, his head down, eyes almost completely shut. Derek started inching closer, feeling the wavering thread between them, tugged at.

His hand went to fall onto his shoulder, to touch him and see how it'd feel like this time around, but Derek had to stop himself, because the touch would feel more like a hold, and the hold could eventually release into nothing, and Derek couldn't do that to Stiles. Or himself, but, mostly Stiles. But just before he could pull away, his phone started ringing, startling them both.

Stiles looked up, wide-eyed and alert, like he'd only just woken up, as Derek informed Cora that he'd made it and found him, and that _no he can't tell her everything right now because it's not the time and he regrets ever picking up_. To which she said that he was being dramatic as always and that she was going to call Stiles instead if he didn't tell her the full story once they were back to Beacon Hills.

When Derek went to put his phone away, the frown deepened between Stiles' eyebrows, his eyes scurrying away in irritation.

" You jinxed it. I was pulled over pretty much as soon as we hung up." Stiles' lips unwillingly moved into something like a smile, before he shook his head, refusing to give in.

" I don't want to fight anymore, Stiles." Derek sighed, sitting on the bench beside Stiles, leaving as much of a distance as he could, without feeling the itch to comfort, to hold, to feel. It took Stiles a few minutes to yield, carefully leaning towards Derek, letting his head rest onto his shoulder. And this, this right there was what almost made Derek want to just say the words out loud, and finally claim Stiles. This was what made him feel like maybe Stiles wanted him to, maybe he'd be okay with it, and let him love him. Or, not love, but – be around and just – **_fall_**.

" Me neither. I'm wiped." Derek took in the sinking of Stiles' head into his shoulder, the feel of the bandage and his hair and the movement of his muscles while he spoke. He put his own head down, careful not to lay too much pressure.

" Did the doctors clear you for flying?"

" Not really. I checked myself out."

" Why would you do that?"

" I'm not going to leave my dad another hospital bill. He already has enough of those back home. Plus, I hate hospitals anyway, and staying in one, in a city that I don't know, all alone, would fuck with my head too much."

" I would have stayed with you. If you wanted me to." Stiles' scent sweetened with something like gratitude, like admiration, and Derek tried not to breathe too much of it in.

" I just really want to be home right now."

" Are you well enough for the road?" Derek tilted his head down slightly, searching Stiles' exhausted features for some kind of comforting response, but he gave a minute nod, closing his eyes tiredly.

" Let's get you home then. But if anything starts feeling off, you let me know, and we'll stop." Stiles gave something like a nod again, as Derek carefully, delicately, circled his arms around him, securing his weight, before standing, and lifting him along with him, hyperaware of the sound of his broken ribs brushing against their pieces, poking through him.

He tried to take some of Stiles' pain away, but he groaned, shook his head, whispered something about being loopy enough, not wanting to pass out, so Derek swallowed his worry, tried to tame the waves of uselessness crashing onto him, as he helped Stiles into the passenger's seat, patiently waiting till he found somewhat of a comfortable position before fastening his belt, and closing the door for him.

Derek texted the sheriff that they were driving back, and that it would probably take longer than it normally would because he had to be gentle with the holes in the roads, all the curves and bumps and turns. He had to be gentle with Stiles. He didn't wait for the sheriff's reply before he started driving, unable to gather his thoughts, dazed by the overwhelming proximity of Stiles.

" I don't mean to be mad at you, Stiles. It's just – you frustrate the hell out of me." Stiles snorted, looking closer to sleep than awake-ness.

" Can't say I haven't heard that one before."

" Not like that." Derek groaned, infuriated by his utter inability to express, to speak and match his thoughts to words he knew, words he could always feel on the tip of his tongue, but never could really spit out.

" I meant like – I mean – you're always going out there like you're untouchable. You jump head first into life and as – as incredible as that is to watch, it's fucking scary. Because you're not invincible, Stiles. None of us are, but you're just – you're oblivious when it comes to danger and hurt. You don't see the wolf almost biting your leg off because you're too busy running in to save Boyd, or – or me. And when it comes down to it, I'm always a step behind. I'm always just a tad too late. And – you give it no thought. You don't **_care_** that it makes me feel like a failure, or that it drives me insane every time you take all my sense of control and composure away. Because – well, why would you care about how I feel?  How – how **_you_** make me feel?"

Derek wasn't looking at Stiles, didn't think he could. He was driving anyway, so that gave him a valid excuse to look past the tremble in Stiles' limbs, and how his chest heaved once, loud and angry, before settling back into its tired pattern of breathing.

" How I – I don't even **_know_** how you feel, Derek." Stiles was slightly lightheaded, feeling the bile crawling up his throat, forming into words he'd probably choke on, because Derek wasn't ready to hear any of it.

Derek's eyes squeezed shut, kind of like he was in pain, only maybe worse. Stiles watched his eyes peeling open, traced the struggled movement of his chest as he tried to manner his breathing, his fingers tightening and releasing around the steering wheel, before he settled back, all calm and unfazed, like Stiles hadn't spoken at all. And Stiles felt like imploding, combusting into things that wouldn't overwhelm Derek. Then he realized that it was probably the nausea kicking in and he was about to throw up all over Derek's car. He contemplated letting himself just do it, it would serve Derek right, but then he decided against it.

" Stop the car."

" What? Stiles – "

" Derek, now."

Before the car could fully come to a halt, Stiles was pushing his door open, throwing himself to his knees and retching out the jello from the hospital and a bunch of fluids they pumped his body with. After a few dry heaves and a few not so dry heaves, Stiles was almost crashing, face forward, into his throw up, thinking that this was as low as it could possibly get for him. But Derek pulled him back, allowing him to crash onto his lap instead, moving his sweaty hair away from his forehead, trying to give him some room to breathe.

" Fuck, this is it. I've officially hit rock bottom." Stiles coughed out, wiping his mouth, sinking slightly further into Derek's chest, and choosing to ignore how confusing everything about this was.

" Are you feeling better? Why didn't you tell me you were getting nauseous?"

" It comes and goes. Guess I thought this would go away too."

Derek's fingers didn't still against Stiles' skull, and he didn't ask for them to. He closed his eyes, eased back as much as he could and then some, drinking up how unclenched he was starting to feel.

" I'm sorry, Stiles. I – I don't know how to do this. I just – I can't afford to lose someone else. Lose you. I can't do it. And I know it's your life and I don't get a say in what you choose to do, but – you don't know how it feels and I don't know how to explain it. It sucks. More and more every time something happens to you. It makes me want to lock you up somewhere and just – protect you. And you won't let me. You just think that I'm trying to control you or force you into doing things my way, but. That's not it. I wasn't built for this, but you make me want to try. To do better, and – just not push you away. You make me want to be alone less, and it terrifies me that you could go, I could lose you and then I don't know what I would be left with. If anything at all. I just need you safe, Stiles. I – I **_need_** you to be safe."

" And by you.. you mean us, right? All of us?" Stiles tilted his head upwards, was surprised by how close to Derek's lips he was, how his eyes were unlike anything he'd ever seen before.

" By you I mean **_you_**. Stiles."

Stiles didn't know if he'd pushed up or Derek leaned down. He didn't know where his limbs ended and Derek's started. But they ended up kissing well past Stiles' warning about his throw-up breath, until his chest started aching with all it was filling up with, and Derek's hands wouldn't stop trembling regardless of how tight he wrapped them around Stiles.

Derek ended up having to carry Stiles back into the car after all his muscles had turned to mush. Stiles fell asleep barely a few minutes after, and Derek willed himself to keep driving, and not pull over and just watch him sleep. Because that would probably be a bit too creepy. So Derek called Cora instead, giving her the updates and slightly panicking over what had previously happened and what it could all mean.

It took them almost five hours to finally park in front of the sheriff's home, where he was impatiently waiting for his son that remained asleep through shifting him from the car up to his bedroom and putting him in his own clothes and not the ones that smelled like hospital and made the sheriff sick to his stomach in remembrance.

Derek was going to head home, shower and try to sleep all traces of that day away, but the sheriff told him to stay so he did. Scott got there a couple of hours later, rushing straight to Stiles' room in need for reassurance. Derek helped the sheriff in the kitchen, allowing him the façade of purpose, of mattering, when it was so painfully clear, it was all simply for distraction, so that he wouldn't drive himself mad thinking of how horrible he'd been at protecting his son.

Stiles was in some kind of daze, shifting between sleep and awake-ness without really being able to tell the difference. He couldn't grasp at anything, couldn't connect, and he would have panicked at the crushing sense of dissociation, if he wasn't so damn tired.

He started properly regaining consciousness almost a full day later, with Scott laying beside him in bed, looking through an outdated magazine he stole from Kira.

" How the hell did you get here so soon?" Stiles hummed, weakly turning to his side to spread his arm across Scott's chest. Scott immediately tangled himself around his friend, holding on, breathing him in.

" Fuck, I was so scared. Are you okay? Is anything hurting?"

" I'm fine, dude. I'm still sore and my head still feels cracked open but I'm okay." Stiles patted Scott's back reassuringly, still feeling kind of loose and not quite there but better than he had in days.

" So, Derek, huh?" Scott said, as soon as they both eased back into a laying position.

" Uh, I have no idea what you're talking about."

" Dude," Scott laughed, amused, knowing. " He's fully domesticated, he's been helping your dad clean and cook and everything. Plus, I can smell him all over you."

" Well, he did basically rescue me and drive me all the way home in his car, so it would make sense – "

" Stiles."

" Shut up, Scott. Didn't they tell you I need my rest? Have you no manners?" Stiles tried to hide away in his pillow, to sink into his bed, and Scott let him, not really needing any further confirmation.

" For what it's worth, I think it's about time. I was wondering when you two were going to get your head out of your asses and just say the words."

" What words? What? What are you talking about, Scott?"

" I'm just saying, you two deserve good things, and you're good people, so maybe let yourself have this one thing and don't overthink it. Same goes for him. Now, you smell like shit, let's get you in the shower before we go see your boyfriend." Scott rolled his eyes, standing to his feet.

" He is **_not_** my boyfriend, oh my God, Scott."

Scott laughed all the way to the bathroom. Stiles tried not to encourage it.

He showered, changed into some fresh clothes, before Scott helped him down the stairs and towards the kitchen that he didn't really make it into, before Derek was all over him, breathing like it was the first time in a long time he really could.

" Sorry. Uh, I'm sorry. I – are you feeling okay?" Derek pulled away, cheeks heated, an aura of regret breaking through all his previous relief.

" I'm fine. I never got to thank you, for, you know, driving all this way to bring me home. I – uh, thanks, Derek."

" It's fine." Derek nodded, all respectful and cautious again. Stiles started wondering if maybe that kiss had all been a medically induced illusion of his. But then Cora came over and started throwing hints every chance she got and Stiles was getting more frustrated by the confusion brought upon him by Derek.

Until that night, Derek lost all patience, and could no longer hold himself back.

" Do you remember yesterday? Like detailed events?"

" I think so. For the most part, yeah. Why?"

" I – no reason. It doesn't matter. I'm going to get going now," Derek looked like Stiles murdered his puppy. Stiles kind of wanted to take it all back.

" Is that about the kiss?" Derek stopped walking away, turning slowly towards Stiles with wide, unintentionally hopeful eyes.

" You remember that?"

" Of course I do. I remember what we said before that too. What, did you think you violated my trust or something?"

" Thank fuck. I just – I didn't want this to be something that you didn't want. I would never do anything like that to you, Stiles, or to anyone. You have to know that, if I didn't have your consent, I wouldn't have come near you, regardless of how much I wanted to, and."

" Okay, okay. Slow down, I already know all of this. But I thought you regretted it or something, that's why I didn't bring it up sooner."

" No, no, I – that's not it. I just – I **_told_** you. I don't know how to do this."

" You don't say," Derek lifted his head, was almost blinded by Stiles' grin, before he shook his head, diving in for their second kiss. And their third. And then Derek heard Scott and the sheriff whispering about them so he waved goodbye and fled, unable and unwilling to wipe the glee away from his features.

Derek texted Stiles that he got home okay, although he never really asked for it. He wanted to really try for him. So he did.

Stiles tried too, and that was it.

They were it.


End file.
